Porcelain
by drecklyn
Summary: What Mary wanted was a brief night of pleasure with a certain Turkish diplomat. What she wound up with was a scandal, a suspicious marriage, and a nine month commitment. AU s1 M/M
1. Chapter 1

**Porcelain**

_Disclaimer: Downton Abbey and all of its surrounding titles belong to Julian Fellowes and Carnival._

_Warning: The following scene depicts strong sexual content. Reader discretion is advised._

* * *

"No, please!" Mary gasped out longingly, not quite sure if she was urging him to stop or asking for more. Either way, Pamuk began to trail small kisses down the bottom of her jaw line causing her to release a torn moan from her lips as they briefly brushed against the crook of his shoulder. It was all so horribly wrong, yet she couldn't stop, trying protests of pain, and the subject of pregnancy. He brushed them off quickly, returning his mouth to her lips as she reluctantly yet fully accepted him, wrapping her arms around his head and playing gently with the loose strands of hair that gathered at the base of his neck.

The rush, the thrill, the adrenaline, it all coursed through her body at the mere excitement that she had never done anything like what she was about to indulge in. His hands were searching, roaming roughly over her body and her back surged up with electricity fueling her passion for more, letting out a tiny gasp as his lips soon followed his fingers.

As his mouth hurriedly searched at the nape of her neck, his hands gripped the hem of her nightgown, playing with the loose strands at the end that Anna had yet to mend. Before she could muster what he was doing, she was deprived of her gown, a deep shutter coursing through her body as she realized the full exposure of her chest.

He gaped hungrily down at her, dark eyes tracing over her marble white skin. He began to carefully place a hand upon her neck as he drifted it down her collarbone, eventually finding its way to her breast. She let out a small gasp as he roughly ran his hand over it, his grasp turning from ecstasy to something painful. She couldn't muster words to beg him to stop, yet he seemed to realize his grip was much to firm and he relented, instead feeling with his mouth which was much softer than his rough hands.

His hands began to trail down her stomach, towards the base of her leg as he tersely removed her last remaining item covering her modesty. She gasped as his mouth moved from her chest and gazed down at her nakedness before him. There was something unrelenting in his eyes and Mary nearly cringed as he licked his lips and came down for another hungry kiss.

"Oh my darling," He breathed against her lips as he propped himself above her with his elbow, rolling over and removing his robe, night clothes soon following hurriedly. She had never seen a man naked before, in fact she hadn't even seen a bare chest yet as she gazed at Pamuk she wondered why she had been deprived of such a thing for so long. He was absolutely beautiful, like some sort of God, perched proudly before her as his pride swelled, sending a slight blush along her cheeks as she saw her affect on him.

A small smirk graced his lips and he leaned back to her, covering her body with him as his lips returned to her neck, hands trailing down to her legs. It was all too much, and a small sensation in the bottom of her stomach roared for more, heat washing over her as his hands drifted over her warmth. She moaned out, his fingers completely unanticipated as they traced over her depths, sending her into a spiraling burst of ecstasy.

"Please," She whispered desperately, baring her eyes into his as she watched him realize to urgency behind her words. He nodded tersely and raised himself to hover over her. Mary rolled back her head and stared up at the base of her four poster bed, studying the perfection of the architect, realizing it had never looked more beautiful than tonight as she waiting for entry into her body.

And she soon felt the base of him press against her and she let out a sharp moan as slowly he began to drift into her. It was painful, God it was so painful. She wanted to scream for him to stop, yet he was barely inside her, and they had come this far. Yet as she gritted her teeth and he slowly pushed into her she began to rethink the entire situation. It felt as though she were being ripped from the inside, split in two from the base up. Yet there was a tiny twinge of pleasure, buried far down beneath her misery and she couldn't ignore it for long for the pain soon subsided and pure pleasure was all that followed.

She moaned longingly as he began to cradle her back and forth, never before experiencing a sensation such as the feeling that graced her body. It was not passionate, yet she did not expect it to be. They were not in love, however much they did enjoy the other's company. They were simply two misguided souls looking for excitement, searching for something different than their tedious every day imaginings, yet rather their actions were logical or completely stupid Mary still couldn't decide.

As his pace quickened she gasped out his name, wrapping her legs around his waist as sweat began to linger over her skin. She wanted more, so much more, and she arched her back against him, his moans of pleasure rising her peak even further. He released with a dazed sigh into her and she let out a cry, so loud she was worried she would wake the whole hour, yet he continued to thrust, waiting for her to come as well.

And then suddenly he let out a sharp cry, crumbling before her as his head fell upon her stomach. Furrowing her eyebrows at his cease of thrusts, she sat up, gazing down at his rigid body.

"Kamul?" She whispered sharply. He hadn't fallen asleep had he? She couldn't possibly be so bad at making love. "Mr. Pamuk," Her voice was more urgent now as she shook his desolate figure, removing him from between her legs with great difficulty as he crumbled to the bed, giving her a full view of his face. Eyes wide open, he wore a look of complete shock as he mouth that had just previously been tenderly over her lips, lay gaping, breathing not emitting from it.

And with a sharp jolt she realized what had happened, a fluent rush of warmth running to her head as she realized the state of the man before her.

He was dead.

* * *

_Three Months Later_

Lady Mary Crawley was often described as graceful, dignified, and always seemed to have a calm composure, yet as she crumbled in front of the toilet, head nearly touching the water below her, she felt none of these things. She had been sick forever it seemed, excusing herself every moment of the day to go burry her head in a bathroom, sometimes not emerging for hours. Her mama had of course noticed dolefully that her daughter was indeed succumbing to some sort of virus, and she had sent Mary to bed earlier that day, ignoring her sharp protests and demands to be left alone.

She hated being confined to her room with nothing to do but lay in bed and be felt sorry for, wallowing in the shallow nausea that plagued her head, yet as she rose from the toilet she was accompanied by another brief sensation, an aching pain in the base of her back, and she bent over with a gasp, clutching firmly to the sink as she tried to steady herself. She tersely returned to her bed, casting a dull look out her window as she watched flurries of snow dance around in the late February weather.

Collapsing onto her bed, she closed her eyes. She used to admire the eloquent wood of her base board, bathed in the pure freshness of the linens and delighted in the mahogany colour of the rosewood that lined the four posters. Yet as she lay in sickness she had never despised a place more in her life, littered with her disoriented memory of the loss of her virtues.

Lost in thought, she paid no attention to her bedroom door opening swiftly, her mother hesitating at the hinge but soon letting herself into the room, taking in the site of her desolate daughter before her.

"Oh my dear," She said soothingly, debating whether or not to take a seat on the bed before finally settling in a chair next to her daughter as she pursed her lips, this notion not going unnoticed by Mary.

"What is it?" She asked tiredly, quite sure there was something up her mother's sleeve.

Biting her lip, Cora gave her daughter a strained smile before attentively rising to her feet again. "I've brought someone to see you,"

Letting out a ragged sigh, Mary fell back against her pillow, quite annoyed with her mother's determination. "Really mama, I told you not to send for Doctor Clarkson. I'm perfectly fine and I just need some rest," She persisted sharply.

Ignoring Mary's clear annoyance, Cora made quick work towards the door, sticking her head into the hall and motioning for some unknown person to enter. "Not Clarkson, exactly," Cora flustered, leading a crumbled looking woman into the room, gray hair tied sharply into a bun and lips so thin they didn't appear to exist.

Seeing Mary's confused expression, her mother elaborated. "This is Mrs. Stewart. She's here to…make note of your illness,"

Mary sat up, confusion donning her face as the old woman rushed fervently to her side, pulling out all sorts of odd looking contraptions from her large purple bag. If her mother was going to call a doctor she would much rather prefer Clarkson, someone who was trained in medical experience and knew exactly what he was doing, not some old codger from the next town over, with items that appeared to be used for gauging out someone's eyes, not measuring their health. Yet she seemed to know what she was doing, and she soothingly urged Mary to lay back down on the bed, muttering under her breath as she began to examine Mary's state.

Within an hour, the old woman was gone, retreating from Mary's bed with a startled look on her face, glancing at Cora and giving her a sharp nod before departing the room in a hurry. Wondering what on earth the entire charade was about, Mary glanced up at her mother only to find her in a familiar state of shock, blue eyes wide and mouth grim as she stared from her daughter back to the floor.

"Mama," Mary persisted urgently. "What was all that about?"

"I-," Cora stammered, searching for words to match her shock, to provide an answer, yet finding none and fervently collapsing into the chair behind her, placing a terse hand over her mouth. After two brief minutes of silence, she gazed up at Mary sharply, taking in her daughter's expectant face before sighing and releasing her explanation. "After…after that night," She couldn't quite bring herself to elaborate, "I've been having suspicions about…the state of you," Realizing she wasn't making much sense; she closed her eyes and gave a rushed answer. "Mary you're pregnant,"

Silence elapsed over them as Mary tried to understand her mother's hurried words, leaning back against her bed frame with a confused expression on her face, yet finally realizing the depth of the sentence that was just hurriedly breathed.

"I-I thought you were just ill, and brushed it off with excuses of a cold, or some sort of minor food poisoning. But just in case, I summoned Mrs. Stewart. She's a midwife from Ripon, and she…promised to keep everything confidential," Cora bowed her head before gazing quickly back to her daughter, who looked as if she had been slapped in the face.

Mary finally broke apart.

"Oh god," She jumped from her bed in a fury of emotion, eyes welling with tears as she realized how utterly and horrifically stupid she truly was. As if the hurried words of a Turkish foreigner would provide protection towards creating life, his lie of safety still ringing desolately in her ears. How dare he. How dare she. She dissolved in a rage, clutching her head as she crumbled to the floor beside her mother who watched distantly, not knowing whether to comfort or scold her broken daughter. "Oh what have I done," She sounded mad and terse, face littered with angry tears.

"We must do something," Cora whispered hurriedly yet sharply. "For if people find out you are pregnant and not already married you will be destitute. You'll never receive another friendly gesture for as long as you live,"

Mary glared up at her, sharp brown eyes blurred with tears as she rose to her feet. "There isn't anything we can possibly do," She snapped, sharp ragged breaths rising in her panic.

"There is," Cora sighed, closing her eyes. "I've…been rather hesitant, but there's no other way. I will not have my eldest daughter basked into a scandal that will haunt her all her life,"

Mary angrily dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief, furious that her mother could think there was a possible way out of her predicament. "And pray, what be your brilliant plan?"

Cora shuffled nervously before rushing her words. "You must marry Matthew Crawley,"

* * *

_AN: I must admit, I am extremely nervous about posting this fic, particularly the beginning. Never before have I written smut and I'm quite curious to your advice, as I most likely sorely need it. Thank you for reading, next chapter should be up very soon!_


	2. Chapter 2

_Disclaimer: Downton Abbey and all of its surrounding titles belong to Julian Fellowes and Carnival._

* * *

"You can't be serious," Mary's tone was harsh yet full of disbelief at her mother's proposal. Marry a middle class solicitor whom she barely had anything in common with, if nothing at all, who flounced around Downton as if he already owned the place? Restoring cottages and coming for dinner and stealing away the fortune and estate that Mary ought to have. Out of the question.

"I am quite serious," Cora said firmly, a concentrated look on her face as she prepared herself to elaborate the seemingly ridiculous plan. "Not only will it protect your scandal, you will also inherit this house, and the money, and the title of Countess. It's what we've been wanting all along for you Mary!"

Mary flounced her arms, exasperated and outraged that such a prospect provided some ounce of hope, and quickly searched for a point to contradict her mama. "But don't you see, if he knows about the affair, and the child, he won't want to marry me at all! He knows I'll only be after his position, knows that I only need him for his protection!"

Cora pursed her lips and quickly averted her eyes. She knew how to solve that snag as well.

"But you see my dear, you won't tell him," Her voice was quiet, as if revealing some deep dark secret, and Mary had to strain her ears to hear.

"What?" Honestly, her mother was laughable. "Of course I will have to tell him! Lord, by the time we marry I might already be a mother!"

Cora shook her head sadly, biting her lip and crossing her legs, trying to appear dignified even though she was planning something scandalous. "Marry him soon, within the week, and then say the child is his. It won't matter if the baby is a few months early, no one will suspect,"

Mary's eyes widened, taking in the fact that her mama was urging her to do something purely selfish, so utterly deceptive that even Mary herself found it disturbing. She stammered, trying to catch her breath. "B-but the child! It will look nothing like Matthew!"

"No. It won't. But in case you didn't notice, you and Mr. Pamuk both shared distinguishable features, dark eyes, dark hair. My dear, it won't look like Matthew but it will appear a great deal like you!"

Mary collapsed into the chair behind her, head spinning with a small remote idea that the whole plan just might indeed work. She swallowed, soothing her dry throat as her mama looked on expectantly, waiting for Mary to point out another problem in the plan for Cora to contradict.

"Won't Clarkson realize the baby is far too big to be premature when he delivers it?"

"We will use Mrs. Stewart. She's more sympathetic than she looks, and she won't give your secret away,"

"Matthew will have to know some day," Mary whispered, her voice dry as she came to grasp with her only way out.

"Perhaps. But not for a long time. After you're married, and he loves you in some way shape or form. Marriage in the aristocracy is like a binding contract. Even if you want a divorce, something within you won't let you,"

And they both sat in lingering silence, trying to keep the guilt of deception at bay. Yet they both knew what Mary had to do, to cover up her path of recklessness. And Cora's plan just might work.

* * *

Mary had made haste the next day, not wasting a second as she knew with every passing minute her womb was growing. Rather reluctantly of course, though with simple encouraging words from her mama, she donned her favorite red velvet hat and coat and departed from the warmth of the Abbey into the harsh snow, shivering for she had not been outside in weeks. Late winter weather beating down upon her, she refused to take the motor, supplying that a little exercise was all she needed to get back into the shake of deprived bed rest. And of course, a motor was far too quick for her to gather her thoughts and courage to prepare for what was about to take place, though she kept the later to herself.

She had invited herself over to Crawley House for late afternoon tea and Isobel had accepted without hesitation, pleased to host Lady Mary Crawley, if only for an hour. Mary truthfully had felt rather guilty as she wrote the quick telegram that morning, almost as if she were writing some sort of lie, though she quickly brushed the unwanted feeling to the side as a wave of nausea overcame her body. It was for the best.

So consumed in thought, Mary barely noticed herself arriving in the village, and nearly passed the cottage-like house next to the church where her distant cousins resided. Backtracking carelessly, whilst inwardly cursing herself for being so distracted, she swiftly opened the front garden gate and let herself into the yard. It was a rather nice looking house, stones gleaming in the sun as bare trees weighed down by the snow seemed to beckon her down the path, and with a small jolt she realized it would be her temporary home one day, of course if all went as planned.

The crunching noise of her feet pervading on the harsh snow nearly sent her scampering back to the safety of the street, and she paused, truly rethinking what she was about to leap into. Yet her mother's final words to her before her departure still lingered in her ears, "This is your last hope," And with a determined nod, she proceeded down the path and placed a firm yet loud knock upon the door.

A scuffling within the house soon made itself known, and the large white door before her opened gently, revealing an eager looking Molsley, displaying an unusual excitement in his eyes.

"Good afternoon Lady Mary," He said in a gruff yet cheerful voice, urging for her to step over the doorframe, which she did with slight hesitation, not used to such a flustered butler. "May I take your coat Mi'lady?"

Giving him a swift nod, throat too dry to form words, he removed her heavy coat and immediately Mary felt like she was about to face a dragon and she had just been deprived of her suit of armor. Her favorite jacket had been a source of protection, and she hadn't even realized the comfort it provided her before it was completely lifted from her shoulders. Before she could ask for it back however, Molsley tentatively explained Isobel was in the drawing room and he began to lead Mary down the short wooden yet lavishly painted hall of Crawley house.

Isobel sat in a small plush chair by the fireplace, hands preoccupied with a book before she glanced up and noticed Mary standing tentatively in the doorframe. She sprung from her chair at once, making quick work to place a brief kiss on Mary's cheek.

"Mary dear! How lovely to see you," She cast a cheerful smile and then motioned for Mary to take a seat. "Matthew should be joining us any moment, he'll be back from work soon,"

Mary could only give a solemn nod as Isobel then indulged her in all sorts of ramblings of the village, and the hospital, and more things that Mary could care less about. Her head felt woozy and she wondered if she was going to be sick again, though with Matthew's impending arrival, she knew the nausea wasn't from the baby.

Truthfully rather nervous, she sipped from her tea cup yet nearly dropped it when she heard the drawing room door open with a click.

Matthew Crawley entered the room with a dry smile, blue eyes looking strangely alarmed as they gazed over his mother and then Mary, who gave him an equally unnerving smile.

"Cousin Matthew," Mary acknowledged herself briefly, watching delicately as he placed his briefcase on the table next to him.

"Hello," He replied, moving around the sofa to take a seat before them. "Mother," Smiling at her, he gave her a quick peck on the cheek. Isobel looked absolutely delighted to have her son in her presence, and with a sharp tinge, Mary almost felt as if she were intruding.

Conversation passed by tediously, the only vaguely interesting topic discussed was the remodeling of the cottages, how a worker had accidently painted the inside a pastel green. Matthew seemed to be watching her out of the corner of his eyes, as though waiting for her to say something cold and calculating, to criticize or to laugh at. Yet Mary strangely said two words during the entire timeframe, and that was, "Thank you," when Molsley refilled her teacup.

On the fifth chime of the Grandfather clock, Isobel suddenly placed down her teacup and rose to her feet. "Dear me, five o'clock already? I'm terribly sorry Mary, Matthew, but I've an ordeal down at the hospital with cousin Violet I'm afraid. But there's no reason the two of you can't remain here," She gave a small smile.

"Best of luck," Matthew offered, an amused expression gracing his face. Mary found the whole thing rather peculiar as her Grandmother had only been at the Abbey that morning, drowning on about a trip to Ripon she would be making that afternoon, and considering the distance she would be nowhere near the hospital. Yet keeping the same silence she had equipped all evening, she simply gave Isobel a terse nod goodbye and watched as she departed, trying to look at anything but the man before her.

They sat in an awkward silence, both sipping their tea quietly. Mary inwardly cursed herself for not breathing a word to him for her frayed nerves. If she wanted to survive in the world she chose to live in, she needed this man to marry her and she needed him to marry her soon. And so she broke the ice.

"How was your job today?" It was a dreary question, yet she knew these type of men, the one's with a passion for being workaholics.

He seemed surprised at her question, yet quickly sat up and gave her a small smile. "Quite well actually. We're making progress in a case, so I won't have to go in at odd hours of the day,"

"Ah," Was all she could respond. Usually so graceful, so charismatic, she wondered darkly why her cousin caused her to be completely tongue tied in conversation with him, and quickly changed the topic.

"I hope life in the country is proving satisfactory. Is it very different from Manchester?"

"In some aspects yes," He glanced over at her at the edge of his tea cup, as though not quite comprehending that he was holding a decent conversation with her.

"Like what?" She persisted.

Giving her an amused smile, he lowered his teacup and placed it on the table next to him. Mary cringed when she realized it wasn't on a coaster. "The people are ruder here," He said simply, and Mary was vaguely taken aback before he added, "But they're becoming friendlier,"

She quirked an eyebrow. "Are they?"

"Indeed. I think they're- warming up to me,"

"Well I suppose after six months they've gotten used to you," She watched out of the corner of her eye as he studied her, searching for sarcasm or some hint of foul play. She was quite pleased with herself for causing this effect on him, yet once again her mama's words of final chances echoed in her head and she edged on.

"And what do you think of the landscape?" There was a tightness in her voice, as though hinting an ulterior motive, yet she quickly disguised it with another indulge into her teacup.

"It's more beautiful than I could ever have imagined," His voice was slightly above a whisper, and she nearly shivered at his softness, not knowing his deep voice could become so light.

Words echoed around her head, urging her on darkly. _Last hope. Final chance. The beginning of the end._

And it was with these phrases echoing in her mind that she leaned forward and closed her lips around his.

* * *

"Mary dear, is that you?" Cora's voice echoed from the boulder room that Mary had been trying tentatively trying to avoid yet doing a poor job. She had tried to sneak back into Downton unnoticed, yet unfortunately her mother had ears like a fox and was quick to catch anything that went under her nose.

"Yes mama," She surrendered herself, giving up and quietly slipping into the yellow clad room, closing the heavy door behind her.

Her mother gazed up at her eagerly from a chair in the center of the room, where she had been embroidering moments before. "Are you engaged yet?" She questioned excitedly.

"Of course not," Mary scoffed, cautiously taking a seat in front of her mother, preparing herself for another scolding.

Sighing heavily, Cora placed aside her needle work and bit her lip, resisting the urge to collapse. "Did you make in progress whatsoever?" She hissed.

Mary swallowed, avoiding eye contact with her mother who seemed to be baring down her neck. "We kissed," She said simply, but then quickly added, "And he asked me to accompany him to the opera house in London tomorrow,"

Cora's expression immediately changed to one of pure delight, and she patted Mary's hand firmly. After idle chit chat and a brief wave of goodnight, Mary retreated to her bedroom, head dizzy with the conflict of the day.

Yes, she had shared a kiss with Matthew. But she wasn't supposed to enjoy it.

* * *

_AN: Thank you for all your lovely reviews to the last chapter! _


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